As he did with &#147;The English Patient,&#148; director Minghella performs a miraculous juggling act, balancing his epic, sweeping story with the subtleties of character and detail that make Cold Mountain breathe.

"Kill Bill Vol. 1" was a pure action movie, in love with collisions of violent movement. &#147;Vol. 2&#148; relaxes the pace, allowing for extended monologues. Those who lamented the first film's lack of wicked word exchanges should delight in Carradine's final soliloquy.

Echoes Eastwood&#146;s previous exploration of true-life violence, &#147;Unforgiven,&#148; by tracing how death and depravity stain one&#146;s life for generations, leaving seeds to take root in each branch of a tainted family tree.

It joins &#147;Rush,&#148; &#147;The Onion Field,&#148; &#147;Serpico,&#148; &#147;Seven,&#148; &#147;The French Connection,&#148; Traffic, and &#147;Prince of the City&#148; as a grimy, hyper-real exploration of the emotional and psychological prices paid by cops.

While it's too smart to be shelved on the porn rack, "YPF" (a neutered acronym for Young People F**king, its original title) shoots Judd Apatow-styled raunch into previously uncharted stratospheres of frank sexual humor.

Despite its handsome cinematography, slathered in thick, neo-noir shades of red and blue, the film has no one to root for. Place your bets on Hoffman&#146;s terrific portrayal of a weasely, wisecracking pervert, however, and you&#146;re sure to get your money&#146;s worth.

Longtime fans of John Woo, who have come to accept operatic, lead-slinging death dances as an integral part of the director&#146;s powerful aesthetic, will probably be unsatisfied with this neutered variation on his earlier, superior works.

A frozen pile of reindeer droppings. The cinematic equivalent to passing a kidney stone, Zwigoff&#146;s unholy foray into &#147;dark comedy&#148; gives us a suicidal, sociopathic drunk slinging swear words with a ferocity that would make Tony Montana wince.